The dance is only a memory
A bag of fog without a line.

Now thrills float back.
There was love in a concentrated form.

There was Joe doodling out his moods,
Mary swaying, wanting to look casual.

Everything was set for love.
Mary envying Joe's ability to express.

It wasn't naughty to ask for love.
We weren't shielding our hearts.

We tried to be witty- with saved remarks
Yes we both wanted the other to be thrilled.

Those petticoats shoveled coal on that girls' gaiety.
You held your partner tight-

So as to fit like a puzzle
When your heart pounds, he whirls you

You forget about making your feet move
You forget about weight.

The others are the scenery
While your dizziness takes you into another chamber.

The watch is deep in his pocket.
The end is ignored.

To add spice, I looked down shyly.
It was picked up and appreciated.

Now I sit, leaning against a pole.
The carpet of other memories rolled away.

For that dance;
A bag of fog without a line.